


Under the Weather

by stcrmpilot



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, and a bit of, just SO much fluff god, repressed boy gets a lil cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrmpilot/pseuds/stcrmpilot
Summary: After a rather rainy outing leaves him with a cold, Hallan is in need of a bit of TLC.
Relationships: Eris (Gallifrey)/Hallan (Doctor Who)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> i've succumbed.. to the Boys......

Eris has been through a lot of change lately. More than he ever would’ve expected out of a Gallifreyan life. Flexible as he is—and he does fancy himself rather flexible, relatively speaking—he can’t fool himself into deciding it’s been easy to lose his home, his friends, his family, to be shoved into a whole new existence as a wandering renegade, all in one fell swoop. Everything is new, these days, and a lot of it is scary. 

It’s a great comfort, therefore, that the fundamental tenet of his life remains intact: a Time Lord is always alright. He doubts that’ll ever change. 

It started when they returned from a romp about a particularly watery world called Xaqqar. The famous waterfalls were lovely, the lightning displays spectacular, and Hallan’s close company best of all. Eris wasn’t bothered in the slightest to return to the TARDIS soaked to the bone, freezing cold, his socks squelching in his boots; even Hallan was playing along, between vigorous complaints about the weather. Only when he began to develop something of a sniffle did Eris regret, somewhat, not bringing an umbrella. 

This morning, Eris is already seated at the little two-person table in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, when Hallan walks in—or perhaps, Eris notes with a frown,  _ drags himself  _ might be more accurate. The commander, usually quite happy to stand at attention regardless of the setting, seems reluctant to even hold himself upright, nothing more evident in his unsteady steps than the desire to go right back to bed as soon as possible. He’s bundled up in a pair of flannel trousers and his favourite sweater, forcibly reclaimed from Eris last night, his hair is tousled into odd blond tufts, and for the first time in Eris’s memory he goes right for the leftover coffee. When he turns round, leaning heavily on the counter and clutching his mug with both hands, Eris has to suppress a smile; he’s no doubt the poor man is miserable, but he’s really very cute, all dishevelled like this. 

“You’re up a bit late,” says Eris, with just a note of concern. Then, suggestively, “Are you feeling alright?”

Hallan makes a little grumbly noise, rubs a hand over his face and ruffles it through his hair. “M’fine,” he mumbles. “Didn’t mean to.” 

There’s a painful-sounding rasp in his voice that wasn’t there yesterday, and his cheeks and nose are slightly flushed. Eris feels a pang of sympathy; not a lot of Time Lords ever suffer a case of the common cold, confined as they are to Gallifrey, and he knows firsthand it isn’t a particularly pleasant experience. He rises from his seat and wanders over to Hallan, a smile tugging at his lips as Hallan watches him with increasing suspicion. 

“Hallan,” he sighs, reaching up to fix his hair, spending perhaps longer than strictly necessary just running his fingers through the lovely soft strands. 

“I am fine,” Hallan insists, and sniffles. 

“You’re sick, Hallan,” Eris says gently. It’s an art, after all, convincing a Time Lord to look after themself. “You’ve clearly caught something. I did tell you, days ago…” 

“Of course I’m not sick,” he retorts, drawing himself up as much as he can manage. “I wasn’t sick days ago, and I’m not now. I am a–”

“Time Lord, yes.”

“…yes, and my immune system is more than strong enough to– what are you doing?”

Eris has placed his hand on Hallan’s forehead; his skin is burning hot. “Checking your temperature,” he says. “Pandak’s ghost, you must be boiling.”

“Freezing, actually,” he mumbles, like it’s a dire admission. Eris, naturally, steps a little closer and loops his arms around his waist, offering extra warmth as an excuse to embrace him. Hallan shivers, gratefulness flickering in his expression, and attempts to shrink further into his sweater, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment as he takes a sip of coffee. 

Gathering his resolve—which Eris expects is quite the feat, given how sleepy he looks—he sniffs indignantly. “Regardless,” he huffs, “I can’t be ill. We’ve both been innoculated against any alien diseases we might come across. I simply… have a sore throat. From the dry air.”

“We breathe the same air,” Eris points out. “And the standard course of vaccines doesn’t cover  _ everything. _ Just the dangerous stuff. A simple cold has too many possible strains to effectively protect you from, so–”

Hallan chuckles, a bit of life coming back to his demeanour. “Couple weeks alone and you become a medical expert?” he teases. 

“Hallan,” he says pleadingly, drawing out the word and giving him his very best kitten-shark eyes. “Come on. Go back to bed. You look awful.”

“Thanks,” says Hallan, sarcastic. But he heaves a great sigh and sets his mug down, his posture sagging once more. “I feel awful,” he mumbles, and sniffles again. 

Eris’s hearts twinge; pursing his lips sadly, he runs the backs of his fingers over Hallan’s too-warm cheeks, brushes his thumbs along the handsome line of his cheekbones and settles his arms loosely around his neck. The open offer of affection seems to shatter some line of defense for him, as it so often does. Surrendering to his exhaustion, Hallan lets his head fall to rest on Eris’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck; his hands slip tentatively round his waist, not quite a hug but his typical, quiet way of asking. His touch inspires a little flutter in Eris’s chest, and for a moment Eris is breathless with adoration for him. 

It’s all a bit of a rare gesture for the uptight commander, but Eris thinks he understands. Hallan must be quite uncomfortable, cold and sore and entirely unused to being sick at all. It goes to show how much he trusts Eris, that he’s come to him for comfort, and Eris intends to make it worth his while. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He leans in to bring them flush together, letting Hallan know he’s more than welcome to a hug if he’d like one; his hand moves to toy gently with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I should’ve thought to bring something more waterproof. I didn’t mean for you to get sick.”

Hallan’s huff of laughter ghosts across his skin. “It’s not your fault.” And, a hesitant moment later, “It was… nice. I’m glad we went.”

Eris smiles, relieved. “When I was… away from Gallifrey, you know,” he says, “I saw a couple winters. Not like when it snows outside the Capitol; a proper, freezing, wet winter. I caught a terrible flu once. I–” he laughs– “I thought I was dying for a bit. But Knyla, she… she would bring me soup, and tea when there was some around, she’d make sure I was warm and– and comfortable…” His voice wavers then, his smile faltering, the lump in his throat making it too hard to speak. He bites his lip to stop it trembling. 

He’s just about to apologize when, to his surprise, Hallan draws him tight into his arms. He feels Hallan press a kiss to his neck, then to his pulse point, then his jaw and cheek and forehead. He seems to know, these days, when Eris needs a break from his grief, and he knows just what will help. Thankful beyond words, Eris melts into his touch, letting it drive the ache from his hearts.

“Then I’m glad,” says Hallan, a soft rumble against his chest. “She took good care of you.”

Eris takes a deep, trembling breath, and nods. He works to bring himself back to the present, savouring Hallan’s secure embrace a moment longer, then leans back to meet his eyes and smiles. 

“So,” he continues, cupping Hallan’s cheeks gently in his hands, “I am going to make you tea, with honey, and we’ll find you something for your throat.” He gets right up on his tip-toes to press a kiss to Hallan’s forehead. “And then I’m going to put you to bed and you’re going to rest until you feel better. Doctor’s orders.”

Hallan can’t help but mirror Eris’s fond expression, the light lines around his eyes crinkling with happiness. “Yessir,” he murmurs cheekily. 

Grinning, Eris leans forward to give him a proper, sound kiss on the lips, only to be interrupted by Hallan turning his head to the side. 

“You can’t kiss me!” he objects. “You’ll get sick too.”

“Tough!’ says Eris, and tries again. Hallan avoids him by tilting his head up, too high for Eris to reach no matter how much he stretches. He laughs as Eris has a go at it anyway, lounging back against the counter until Eris gives up and composes himself enough to pout up at him. 

His expression turns conflicted. “Eris, really,” he says, despairing. 

“Hallan?” Eris pleads, knowing full well he’s got the commander beaten by now. 

And indeed, after just a moment, Hallan relents with a heavy sigh. Triumphant, Eris pulls him down and kisses him softly, slowly, letting his desire to make him feel better come through in the delicate brush of their lips. He runs his fingers through Hallan’s hair, leans in just so he’ll hold him tighter, and Hallan rewards his efforts with a pleased little noise, so quiet and shy that Eris wonders whether anyone else would see the significance. When he draws back at last, Hallan follows for just a split second; he looks up and smiles at the affection in Hallan’s eyes, before the commander shakes his head with an incredulous laugh. 

“You are ridiculous,” he informs Eris. 

Eris smiles wider, and gives him one last quick kiss. Then he steps out of his arms and takes his hand to lead him off to the medbay. 

“Don’t blame me when you catch something too,” warns Hallan, the weariness rapidly beginning to drag at him again. He stumbles a bit as he coughs, and Eris takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around his waist. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says breezily. It’s more than worth the risk. 

Armed with cough drops, a bit of soup, and two cups of tea, Eris sits Hallan down on the sofa in the lounge and turns on the telly. He ignores the commander’s grumbling long enough to wrap him up in a blanket and get some food into him; then he lies back on the sofa, drags Hallan down with him, and tells him, very kindly, to shut up and rest. With his head on Eris’s chest, their arms around each other, legs in a tangle, it’s not long before he drops off into a peaceful, restful sleep. And when Eris falls ill a few days later he doesn't mind a bit, because Hallan takes care of him too. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://coordinator-narvin.tumblr.com)


End file.
